


The Third Date

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Series: Modern AU [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dating, F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Romance, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: Underpaid policy aide Alexander Hamilton met the charming, sophisticated Eliza Schuyler completely by accident. To his shock, she'd agreed to a date by the end of the night. To his greater shock, she'd agreed to a second after the first. To his absolute bewilderment, they were about to have their third. Disaster predictably ensues.A fluffy hamliza modern AU





	The Third Date

Hamilton adjusted his tie self-consciously as he stepped up to the door of the restaurant. The doorman gave him an appraising look as he entered, as though fighting an urge to give him directions to the diner down the street. Instead, he asked, “May I take your coat, sir?”

He nodded to the man, trying to seem confident despite the sweat stains gathering under his expensive suit jacket. Stripping off the heavy overcoat, he handed it over and stepped all the way inside. His stomach flipped as he looked around for Eliza, in a way that may have been nerves, or possibly the three day old pizza he’d scarfed down for lunch. He placed a hand to his chest.

“Alexander.”

Eliza was standing near the bar holding a glass of wine, waving to get his attention. Even though she’d called his name, he had to resist the impulse to turn around to see if she was waving to someone else. As usual, she looked perfectly at ease in the glamorous setting. Her hair was done up in a twist with not a strand out of place, her makeup subtle and becoming, and her black dress form-fitting without being revealing. She fit in here in a way he could never dream.

He waved back and started towards her.

See, they’d met entirely by accident.

When he’d graduated from Columbia law, he’d been intent on changing the world. His scholarships ensured he wouldn’t be pressured into taking a position at one of the big firms that sucked out your soul while lining your pockets. He’d even arranged a position with a friend who’d started a small non-profit to help immigrants navigate the truly appalling world of the American legal system.

Then he met Senator Washington. He’d gone to the dinner, because when Senator Washington asked you to dinner, you didn’t say no. Somehow, over a very expensive steak, he’d been convinced that being a policy aide would make more difference than helping people on the ground. He sometimes still regretted the choice he’d made, standing in that doorway of a different upscale restaurant, shaking Washington’s hand.

He rarely left his little windowless office during daylight hours, working ceaselessly to try to fight that nagging doubt in his mind that he’d made a terrible mistake. If he was spending his time making policy recommendations instead of helping people, he better be making some damn good policy recommendations, he told himself, as he typed away into the wee hours of morning.

Washington had insisted he go to the Christmas function, however: a benefit to raise money to help with legal costs for children who had entered the country illegally. As he’d expected, it had been a sea of very wealthy people eating very fancy food and congratulating themselves on their social awareness and generosity.

But standing in the corner, nibbling on an hors d’oeuvre he couldn’t pronounce, he’d met Eliza for the first time. Her father was a wealthy and influential CEO, and she volunteered at a non-profit that helped kids navigate the foster system and, ideally, find their way back home. Many of the kids she worked with were caught up in immigration troubles, she explained; even children who were undeniably U.S. citizens could feel the sting of immigration enforcement through family members being suddenly deported. She’d spoken passionately about all the things he’d wanted to fix when he was in law school.

To his shock, she’d agreed to a date by the end of the night. To his greater shock, she’d agreed to a second date after the first. To his absolute bewilderment, they were about to have their third. Somehow, in his series of wrong turns, he’d accidentally stumbled into something amazing.

“You look nice,” she said as he stopped in front of her. She didn’t even sound like she was just being polite, he realized, looking down at his slightly rumpled suit. It was the nicest one he owned, a good quality fabric that fit him well, but it had suffered from the ten hours he’d spent hunched over a desk.

He nodded dumbly, then shook his head and replied, “You, too.”

She smiled widely and handed him the glass that had been sitting on the bar beside her. “I ordered you some wine. I hope that’s okay.”  

“Thanks,” he said, sipping at it. He nodded. “Perfect.”

“Our table should be ready, if you want to sit down,” she said.

“Right, yes.”

He led the way to the maître d’ and gave his name. “Right this way, sir,” the man said without blinking an eye. Eliza seemed to legitimize his presence in the restaurant.

His stomach churned uncomfortably as he sat across from Eliza. She accepted a menu with a big, friendly smile, her dark eyes turning to the selections as he nodded his thanks to the man as well. “Your waiter will be right with you.”

Clearing his throat, he reached for his wine. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Oh, no. A few minutes,” she shrugged, unconcerned.

The table was fairly private, with surprisingly few people sitting in their section, considering it was a Friday night. It was still early for dinner, he granted silently. Candlelight flickered on the table, bathing Eliza’s face in a warm golden glow.

“You really do look beautiful tonight,” he told her.

A slight blush colored her cheeks as she glanced up at him. “Charmer,” she admonished with a slight chuckle.

He turned his attention to his menu, and his indigestion ratcheted up as he took in the prices. Why in the world had he suggested this place? Because he wanted to impress her, an annoyingly honest voice in the back of his mind answered. He wanted to keep her believing that this underpaid government servant from nowhere could be match for her for as long as possible.

“The chicken looks good,” she remarked.

He glanced at the selection. For $55, it had better be.

“Or maybe I’ll just get a salad,” she continued, wrinkling her nose a little as she considered her options.

“Get whatever you want,” he assured her.

She smiled at him again, and his concern about the prices faded.

“What are you thinking of getting?” she asked.

The thought of food made his stomach turn sourly again. That pizza had really been a mistake. Blowing out a slow breath, he examined his options. “Maybe just the pasta,” he considered. That would be easy on his stomach. And it was a much more reasonable $40 for a plate, he thought sarcastically. What did they do to it, he wondered, that made it any different than the $1 box he could buy at the grocery store down the street?

“Hmm,” Eliza hummed, scanning the menu. “That does sound good. I haven’t had a good plate of pasta in a long time. I think I’ll join you.”

When the waiter arrived, he ordered them both the pasta and a bottle of the wine Eliza had ordered for them.

“A bottle?” she asked with a smirk when the waiter had disappeared.

He shrugged and winked at her.

She ran her hand over his, her thumb stroking over his knuckles. “You don’t need to try so hard, you know,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat and took another sip of his wine. “How was work?” he asked.

They both exchanged funny stories about their days, pausing briefly when the waiter arrived with their bottle. By the time the food arrived, he’d asked her how her family was, and she treated him to some even funnier stories about her sisters. Her younger sister’s dating mishaps were legendary, he was informed, and her elder sister delighted in driving their father insane.

“You know, you never told me if you have any brothers or sisters,” she commented as their chuckling over Peggy’s latest tattooed and pierced paramour died down.

“I have a brother,” he answered as he refilled their glasses. “James. We, uh, haven’t spoken in a while though.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, cheeks pinking as though she’d made some kind of social misstep in asking.

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her. “Nothing happened between us, really. We just…lost touch. We were never very close to begin with.”

“That’s too bad,” she said sincerely.

He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

A beat of silence passed between them. They both looked down at their meals. He hunted for a new topic. She’d mentioned she enjoyed sketching: maybe he could ask her something about art?

“Do you not like your meal?” she asked curiously before he could say anything.

“No, it’s great.”

“You just haven’t eaten much,” she noted.

“I’m not that hungry.”

She nodded, twirling her fork through her pasta with a thoughtful expression. “I’m having a really nice time. Maybe we could take a walk after dinner?” she suggested tentatively.

“It’s pretty cold,” he warned her. The late January temperatures had plummeted, icing over the gray snow on the sidewalks.

“I don’t mind. As long as I’m with you,” she insisted.

A warm feeling bubbled up inside him, almost turning to a giggle. He was pretty sure his smile had taken a turn towards dopey as he gazed back at her. “I’d like that.”

Realizing suddenly that he’d been staring at her for too long, he looked back down at his meal intently. To make the attention seem more natural, he took another bite of the pasta, and immediately regretted it. Nausea rose up in him as he swallowed, so strong he had to fight down the urge to heave over his plate. He took a breath, keeping down the food through sheer force of will. Please, he begged any higher power that might be listening, please, don’t let him embarrass himself in front of this girl.

“Alexander?” Eliza asked. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine. I just… I need the bathroom. Would you excuse me?”

“Of course,” she said, still looking a little concerned.

He hurried into the gleaming marble and stainless steel restroom, jammed the lock into place, and collapsed onto his knees in front of the toilet. His stomach ached fiercely as he breathed hard over the blue water. The nausea seemed to ebb for a moment, but just when he thought he might be all right, he gagged and started to heave. After he was violently ill several times, he spit weakly and reached for the flusher.

His stomach felt a little better now, at least, he considered as he stepped over to the sink to wash his hands and rinse his mouth. Splashing some water on his face, he dried off with a towel, then noticed the little bowl of mints on the table beside the sink. He sucked one gratefully, the peppermint doing wonders for the lingering nausea.

“I asked for the check,” Eliza said as he sat back down at the table.

“Okay.” He smiled, trying to seem normal. He really did feel better now, and he’d hate to ruin the night with her. “Do you still want to take that walk?”

“If you feel up to it,” she replied, her brow furrowing slightly as she examined him.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

The waiter brought the bill, and he handed over his credit card without looking at it. When he signed the receipt, he decided that getting out of this caliber of restaurant for under $200 was a success. They collected their coats and stepped out into the chilly winter evening. The dark purple of dusk hung in the air, the lights of the city bright in the gathering dark.

“I should have brought a scarf and mittens,” Eliza remarked, rubbing her hands over her arms. “I always forget how much colder it gets when the sun starts going down.”

He pulled off his own scarf and wrapped it loosely around her neck. She grinned back at him. “You won’t be cold?”

He shook his head. If anything, he felt a little warm from the restaurant.

She stretched towards him and gave him a chaste kiss. “Thank you.”

They started to stroll down the street, their breath creating great puffs of white air before them. As they passed by a closed gallery, Eliza paused to peer inside. “There’s a modern art exhibit that just opened in here. I’ve been dying to go.”

“Maybe we could go next week?” he suggested, his already precarious stomach turning with nerves. Was it too early to be suggesting a fourth date? They weren’t even done with this one. Would she think he was too pushy? Clingy? Controlling?

“Really?” she asked. Her whole face lit up with pleasure. “Oh, I’d love that!”

“It sounds fun,” he said, a grin forming on his own face in response to her apparent joy.

She took a last lingering look into the dark gallery, then turned back to him. Her hand brushed against his, and he opened his palm in invitation, delighted when he felt her fingers wrap around his.  

As they continued on, Eliza turned the conversation back to her work.

“I know you’re really busy with all you do for the Senator, but maybe you could schedule some time to come talk to the kids? I think they’d really benefit from hearing your story.”

“It’s not that special,” he argued.

“It is,” she insisted. “You’ve accomplished a lot in your life despite having a rocky start. And all the work you do to help others…you might not think so, but I know how inspiring the kids would find you.”

“It’s nothing like what you do.” She actually worked with kids and their families, day in and day out, fighting the good fight.

“Me?” she echoed, looking impossibly confused. “I mean, I help where I can, but what do I know about what these kids are going through? Privileged doesn’t begin to describe my upbringing. But you, you can meet these kids where they live. Show them no matter where you start out, you can still change the world.”

He had to stop himself from snorting at the grandiose description of his job pouring over pages of incomprehensible legislation and tweaking the language to eek some semblance of progress without alerting the opposition. Hardly changing the world. Still, Eliza was looking up at him hopefully, and he hated to disappoint her. “I’d be happy to come by, if you want me to,” he agreed.

She brightened. “Excellent.”

She laid her head against his shoulder. He gazed down at her perfectly styled hair as they made their way past the gate into the park. The holiday lights were still strung up, shining onto the snow covered boughs and white blanketed ground to create an almost magical atmosphere. He’d pretty much do anything she asked if this were his reward, he thought.

A perfect night with the perfect girl. He could hardly believe his good fortune.

Of course, it couldn’t last.

They weren’t far into the park when he felt his stomach turn unpleasantly again. He swallowed, and tried to subtly lay his hand on his middle. The nausea was bad this time, as bad as it had been at the restaurant. A cramp seized his abdominal muscles suddenly. He hissed, grabbing at his middle and stopping abruptly on the path.

“Are you all right, honey?”

“Um, yeah,” he started, swallowing again. His cheeks flushed as he finally admitted, “My stomach is a little upset.”

She squeezed his hand compassionately. “Do you want to sit down?”

He nodded, and she guided him over to an empty bench. Placing his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Her hand slipped out of his to slide over his back gently.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” she whispered. “Just relax and breathe. It’ll pass.”

He hauled in another breath. “You should go,” he suggested. He didn’t know how many dates were required to make vomiting in front of someone okay, but he did know that three was not that number.

“I’m not going to leave you like this,” she refused, sounding slightly scandalized at the suggestion.

His stomach cramped again and he winced. “Oh, God,” he whispered.

“What?”

He groaned. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Her head whipped around in either direction, and then she rubbed his back with purpose. “It’s all right, honey. Come here, there’s a waste basket you can use.”

His head felt foggy as she helped him over to the trash bin. He gripped at the metal rim and leaned over, groaning again. Her hand was back on his shoulder blade.

He threw up into the metal container.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again after he spit the last vestiges of vomit from his mouth.

“Shh,” she cooed, still rubbing his back firmly.

He burped, leaned over further, and threw up again.

One of her small, cool hands touched his forehead, and she combed some of his sweaty hair back with her fingers.

When he seemed to hit a lull, Eliza asked him, “Don’t you live near here?”

Panic welled up within him. One look at his closet of an apartment and she’d know how absolutely out of his league she really was. Then reality reasserted itself. He’d just vomited in a trash bin in front of her. They wouldn’t be going on any more dates regardless.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “About a block that way.”

“All right. Lean on me, and we’ll get you home.” She ducked under his arm and stretched her arm out around his back to steady him. His head was swimming as he eased away from the support of the trash bin. He leaned on her heavily, staggering like he was drunk as they made their way through the park and towards his apartment building.

He managed to dig his keys out of his pocket to open the door. Stumbling through the living room, he headed straight for the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet and heaving violently. Tears formed in his eyes from the force of the sickness.

He vaguely heard the front door close, and a wave of pain that had nothing to do with his stomach swept over him. He was never going to see her again. Sitting in his dark bathroom with his head in his toilet, he sniffled pitifully.

Sometime later, while he was still hunched over losing his stomach, he heard the door open again. Keys jangled, and he heard the distinct sound of items being removed from a plastic shopping bag. Footsteps passed the bathroom, and he heard the drawers of his dresser opening and closing.

Knuckles tapped softly on the open bathroom door and the light turned on overhead. “Is it all right if I come in?” He craned his neck around to see Eliza standing in the doorway, holding a t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Eliza?” he asked, sure she was some kind of fever induced mirage.

She nodded and came over to him, wedging herself into the tiny space between him and the bathtub. “I brought you some clothes,” she said. “And I picked you up some medicine from the Duane Reade next door.”

He squinted at her, still waiting for her to disappear.

She reached forward and touched his forehead again. “Poor baby. You’re burning up. Do you want me to help you change?”

He realized he hadn’t even removed his overcoat in his dash for the bathroom. His tie and belt suddenly felt unbearably confining. He nodded.

She helped him remove his overcoat and suit jacket, loosen his tie and his belt, and steadied him as he pulled on the t-shirt and tugged up his sweatpants. When he was kneeling back in front of the toilet, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ll go get the medicine,” she whispered.

He nodded again.

He managed a gulp of the Pepto when she returned, then promptly vomited it back up. Eliza rubbed his back while he was sick. When he’d finished, she tucked herself back into the space beside the tub.

He doesn’t know how long they stayed like that. Hours passed in a blur. The feverish fog kept his head whirling, and the nausea surged and ebbed within him like the tide. Through it all, Eliza was there, feeding him water and soothing him through the worst of the sickness.

Eventually she helped him stumble into the bedroom. The blankets were tugged up around him and a bowl was placed strategically next to him. Soft lips touched his burning forehead before the light turned off above him. He slept.

~*~

A car alarm was blaring outside his bedroom window. He groaned, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head. Someone else shouted from a nearby window for the car to shut up. His head pounded and his belly was still roiling unpleasantly. He pulled the pillow further over his head as he adjusted in bed.

His hand hit the bowl, and his eyes snapped open again. Oh, God, he’d been hoping that was a fever dream. Had Eliza really sat with him while he vomited all night?

“Hey there, sleepy head,” a sweet voice called from the doorway.

He peeked up from beneath the pillow to see Eliza standing before him, wearing one of his t-shirts, tucked in on one side to a pair of his basketball shorts that she’d cinched tight and rolled twice at the waist. Her hair had been freed from the perfect twist and gathered into a messy bun. She held a cup and a plate of toast, which she placed onto his nightstand.

“Not a very pleasant wake up, huh?”

He shook his head miserably.

“How are you feeling?” He stared up at her as she eased herself on to his bed and reached out to test his temperature, working her hand between his forehead and his pillow. She frowned. “You still feel a little warm. Do you think you could manage some Tylenol?”

“You stayed here all night?” he asked, poking his head out of his hiding place as he gazed at her in utter disbelief.

“Of course,” she replied. “You were sick.”

“But you stayed?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“You were sick,” she repeated slowly. “I wasn’t just going to leave you.”

He couldn’t name a single person besides his mother who had ever stayed with him while he’d had his head in a toilet. “Why?” he repeated.

“I feel like this conversation is going in circles.” She gave him a crooked smile and rested one of her hands atop his belly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she stated, rubbing her hand gently over his middle, “but I really like you a lot. And if you died of food poisoning, it would be very hard for me to keep dating you.”

He let out a baffled chuckle, then winced as his stomach protested the movement.

“Easy,” she urged, soothing her hand over his stomach again. “You’re still sick.”

“You want to keep dating me?” he confirmed.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed simply. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You still owe me a trip to that gallery. So you need to rest up and get better.”

“You are…incredible,” he stated.

She winked at him. “I know. Now, drink some water.”

~*~

He fell asleep again for a while after Eliza had checked on him. When he woke up the next time, his apartment was quiet. He pushed himself up in bed and glanced over to see a full glass of water on his nightstand pinning down a note. “Drink,” it said, signed with a heart and an E. He smiled, sipped at the water, and then swung his legs out of the bed.

His stomach still felt uneasy, but he didn’t feel like he was going to be sick again. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he grimaced at his reflection: pale skin, greasy hair, and sunken, bagged eyes. Too bad it was after Halloween, he thought, as he globbed toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He’d be a lock for best zombie costume, no makeup required. 

He forced himself to shower. After washing up and quickly shaving, he toweled off and changed into fresh sweatpants and a clean white t-shirt. He wandered out into the living room and smiled at the rumpled blanket sitting on the edge of his couch. As he powered up the laptop on his desk, he rubbed absently at his queasy middle. Maybe he’d make some tea before he started in on work.

He was just heading for the kitchen when the lock on his door turned.

Eliza stepped into the apartment and froze, staring at him. After a beat of silence, she smiled sheepishly and held up his keys. “Sorry. I swear I haven’t moved in or anything. I just wanted to pick up some clean clothes for me and some food for you, and I didn’t want to wake you when I got back. No single white female, I promise.”

She’d changed into fashionable boots, jeans, and a knee-length black coat she had paired with his long red scarf. She also apparently found time to shower, reapply her makeup and restyle her hair back to its natural state of perfection. Even dressed casually for the weekend, she looked amazing. He wished suddenly that he’d put on real clothes instead of sweatpants.

“So you’re not going to cut your hair like mine and try to steal my life?” he asked with a teasing smirk.

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

“Single White Female,” he explained. “That’s what that movie’s about.”

“Oh,” she paused in the doorway, a look of realization passing over her face. “Wow. I have not been using that right.”

He laughed, then groaned, massaging his sore stomach muscles. “Don’t make me laugh,” he begged.

“Sorry,” she apologized again. She held up the bag in her hand. “I brought ginger ale and soup.”

“Thanks,” he said sincerely. “Come on in.”

She closed the door behind her with a tap and placed his keys on the side table. “So you’re really okay? I feel like any other man I’ve ever dated would be having a commitment-phobic panic attack right now.”

He laughed again, bracing his hand on his stomach this time to minimize the soreness. Surprisingly, he was okay. Had any other woman he’d dated started using his keys like she lived in his apartment, he would have freaked out. But Eliza was…different. “Well, in fairness, any other woman I’ve ever dated would have left me on that park bench when I first started puking, so…”

She raised her eyebrows. “So this has now become the most serious relationship either of us has ever been in?”

“I guess so.”

“Impressive,” she nodded to herself. “And after only three dates.”

“I know. At this rate, I’m already behind on ring shopping.”

She laughed and the most adorable dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Disappointing,” she teased, tutting at him. “And after my father called you a bright young man.”

“He did not,” he scoffed.

She nodded seriously. “I told him we were going out after our second date. That’s what he said, that you were a bright young man. If I were Angelica, our relationship would have ended then and there.”

“How does your father even know me?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But he does.”

He frowned over this new revelation.

Eliza stripped off her coat to reveal a soft cream-colored cashmere sweater. As she strolled passed him into the kitchen with her bag, he fought down the desire to run his fingers over the inviting fabric. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Are you up to having some soup now? Or should I just put it in the fridge?”

He turned on the spot to lean against the entryway to the kitchen. She looked so natural, standing in his apartment, stooping over to place the ginger ale in the fridge. Like she belonged here with him, like she’d been waiting to come into his life all this time. He shook his head at the fanciful thoughts. He must still be delirious.

“I don’t think I’m up for food yet,” he declined.

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Can I get you something else?”

“Well, I was thinking about making some tea before I started working.”

“Working?” she frowned. “It’s Saturday.”

“You never work on the weekends?” he asked with a skeptical smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, you got me. But you were pretty sick last night. I think you should take some time to recover today.”

“I can work from the couch,” he shrugged.

“Not quite what I meant.”  

“No?”

She shook her head, wearing an amused smile. “Here. I’ll make you that tea. You go sit on the couch, sans computer and phone, and we’ll take it from there.”

He considered a moment: he really did still feel foggy and queasy. Perhaps taking it easy for a few hours would be good. He’d just stay up later tonight to work instead. He nodded his agreement.

As he settled on the couch, he heard his microwave whirl to life and his cabinets opening and shutting in quick succession as Eliza hunted for the tea. The microwave beeped and the door clicked open. She appeared with a steaming mug a minute later and set it down on the table in front of him.

She collapsed back on the couch beside him.

“What do we do now?” he asked, twisting his head to look at her without lifting it from the back of the couch.

She copied the movement. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Clearly you need to see Single White Female,” he teased.

She leaned over to bump her shoulder against his. “Shut up.”

He smiled at her. Sick as he was, he didn’t mind being stuck on the couch when she was sitting beside him. She smiled back.

“I’ll find something,” she declared, grabbing for the remote on the coffee table. She switched the channel over and loaded Netflix. His eyebrows rose, impressed at her ability to navigate his TV. Glancing over at him, she confessed, “It took me an hour to figure out how to do this last night.”

He pulled the blanket over to him, spreading it out over his legs as Eliza navigated to some silly cartoon. Sinking back into the couch, he felt his eyes growing heavy as little yellow creatures babbled unintelligibly on the screen. Eliza placed the remote back on the table and leaned over to unzip her boots. “Do you mind if I take my shoes off?”

He couldn’t hold in a laugh at the preposterous question. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep his face serious. “Yes, I mind very much. That’s a line I’m simply not ready to cross with you.”

She swatted at him lightly and proceeded to pull off her boots. Tucking her sock-clad feet up underneath her, she reached for the blanket. She tucked it over her legs as well and leaned her head back against the couch.

“What are we watching?” he asked sleepily.

“Minions,” she answered.

“What?”

“Just watch,” she shushed him.

He was half asleep when he felt her inch closer to him. Her head landed on his shoulder, and he looked down at her with his eyes half-mast. She raised her big, dark eyes to meet his.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she whispered back.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he confided.

She grinned up at him. “I’m glad to be here.”

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely. “For everything. Last night, and today. You’ve been…so kind.”

She shook her head at him. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I think I kind of do.”

“I know we were kidding around earlier, but I want you to know, this,” she waved her hand between them, “What we have, it feels…different.”

“Different?” he repeated, surprised she’d settled on the same word he had earlier.

“Am I crazy?” She seemed to wilt under his gaze.

He smiled. “It does feel different.”

Her eyes lit up. She cuddled closer to him, one hand soothing over his troubled middle. “Good,” she said decisively, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “Different is good.”

He adjusted his arm to wrap around her, indulging his earlier desire to touch her soft sweater as he drew her closer still. “Very good,” he confirmed.  

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my usual style (historical fics are always going to be my first love), but I wanted to try my hand at a modern AU with my favorite couple. Also, I wanted something lighter after all the intensity in my other fic, Finding Forgiveness. Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and feedback is greatly appreciated!


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